


Muse

by MissMelysse



Series: CrushVerse [40]
Category: Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22374634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMelysse/pseuds/MissMelysse
Summary: While Data and Zoe are on vacation on Centaurus, Data paints a new figure, and calls Zoe his muse.
Relationships: Data (Star Trek)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: CrushVerse [40]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/301746
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	Muse

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during chapter 21 ("Impact Winter") of Crush III: Sostenuto, which is still in progress as of this writing. Slight spoilers for episode one of Picard.

**January, 2370  
Harris Farm, Centaurus **

It's no surprise that I find him painting when I venture downstairs after sleeping late one morning at the farm. Geordi has been staying with my friend Caroline (Data and I both know that our friends are having a fling, but as neither has said anything, we haven't either.), so it's just us in the house, and the sunny breakfast nook with it's gazebo window (currently full of potted cooking herbs) is the perfect spot for my fiancé's easel.

"Morning," I say, as I enter the kitchen and pour myself a mug of the coffee he made for me. "Your coffee skills have improved exponentially since we've been here. For a man who doesn't drink the stuff, and is accustomed to replicators, you have serious skills." I take a beat, then add before he can reply. "Am I allowed to peek at what you're doing?"

"You do not have to 'peek,' Zoe; you may simply look."

"Thanks."

I'm dying to see what he's created, but I force myself to slice a bagel, pop it into the toaster, and press the button to start the toasting process before I bring my coffee over to where he's working.

It's an image of a woman on a rocky shore, choppy blue water almost at her feet, but not quite. The face is not defined, but I see dark hair, olive skin. I was expecting an image of Lal, as he's painted two of her since we've been here. He often paints her when he's processing something deep.

And everything that we've experienced since Christmas – the final encounter with Lore, Data's surges of lust, and how he acted on them, his attempt to give me an 'out' from our engagement – all of those are deep.

But this isn't Lal.

And it isn't me, either, but I don't feel threatened by his painting another woman. I simply ask, "Who is she?"

Data pauses in his work, puts down the paintbrush. "It is something I began while you were at school," he explains. "It was the anniversary of Lal's death…"

"But this isn't Lal." I say it aloud instead of merely thinking it, this time.

"No. I found that rather than painting her, I wished to paint the future. This figure represents _our_ daughter. The one we may have someday."

"So, the ocean is…"

"…representative of my beloved mermaid. Yes, Zoe."

"You know I won't be ready for parenthood for quite a while yet." It's not a question.

"I am aware. And as we have discussed, I am not ready for that evolution of our relationship yet, either. However,… I felt the need to paint this."

"You said you _began_ it last year?"

"I did. But the 'spark of creation' did not last at that time. I believe I required the presence of my muse in order to complete the work."

"Well, Geordi will be flattered that he impacts you so much…" I deadpan.

"You are aware I mean you," Data corrects gently.

"Is that what I am to you? A muse?"

"You are many things to me, dearest: friend, lover, partner, fiancée. Do you object to also being a catalyst for my creativity?"

"No," I tell him. "It's flattering." I set my mug down on the table, and wrap my arms around his waist from behind, resting my head against the back of his shoulder. He covers my hands with his. "Does it have a name, this painting?"

"Not yet," he tells me."

"I like it," I decide. And it's true. The cloaked figure reminds me a bit of a Bronte heroine, a woman walking on a moor or a cliff, but the hair and skin tone are a blend of what a child of ours would look like if Data could create one in me.

I don't know yet – can't know yet – that we will have such a child one day… years later… Years after losing our son, we will welcome our daughter into the world, and while she won't look exactly like the painting – her hair will be curlier, her ears will have Vulcan points – the resemblance will still be uncanny.

I don't know – can't know – that when Elizabeth is born, and we ask Captain Picard to be her honorary grandfather as well as godfather (though he is simply Jean-Luc to me by then), Data will copy this painting and gift it to the old man.

I certainly don't know that he'll date both copies 2369, the year in which the seed of this future child is first planted.

But in the moment, the details of our future don't matter.

Data and I shift positions so we're side by side with his arm holding me close against hm. I breathe in the scents of linseed oil, paint, and canvas. "She's lovely," I tell him.

"Like her mother," Data says. "My muse."

It's a lot sometimes, being with this man. I'm not quite nineteen, and we're planning future children. The events that killed our quiet holiday have made me realize that as much as I need Data, he needs me. Maybe more.

But I wouldn't trade it - trade him – for anything.

I think about coaxing him back to bed – teasing him about what _else_ I might inspire. But the toast pops and the moment is over.

I stretch up to touch my lips to his, then go to tend to my bagel.

Data returns to his painting.

There's fresh snow on the ground outside, and we have no firm plans for the day, and I'm fine with that.

We both are.


End file.
